


Attachments

by WatchingTVbutItsFire



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Action, Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mutual Pining, POV Adora (She-Ra), POV Catra (She-Ra), Pre-Canon, References to solitary confinement, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting, This is like a character study that accidentally found a plot, lots of flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27268858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatchingTVbutItsFire/pseuds/WatchingTVbutItsFire
Summary: Staying together was never easy in the Fright Zone. This story follows thirteen-year-old Adora and Catra (set sometime after that sparring flashback in “Promise”) fighting for what they can't stand to lose.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 69





	Attachments

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Typical emotional abuse/ manipulation from Shadow Weaver. There are several extended scenes with her. There is no physical abuse depicted in detail in this fic, but there are several references to solitary confinement and withholding of food to children. The violence is canon-typical.

Adora was in _distress_ —no, Adora was in _mourning_.

“Nothing will ever be the same.” Adora let her head fall on the table. The nerves in her forehead, indifferent to her emotional plight, objected to the dramatics. “Ow,” she whined.

She turned her face toward where Catra was sitting next to her. Adora opened one eye to look at her best friend. Catra was drawing designs into the brown putty of her ration bar breakfast instead of eating it. Or commiserating with Adora.

“I might as well kiss my shot at Force Captain goodbye,” Adora continued, cheek still pressed to the table.

Catra did not pause the intent carving into her breakfast.

“And… my… life,” Adora intoned in the most miserable voice she could manage.

Still nothing.

“I said, I might as well just _give_ _up_ ,” Adora said, more pointedly in Catra’s direction. “Join the next ship to Beast Island.”

Catra’s claw dug deeper into the brown putty.

“I _said_ —” Adora started again.

A clot of brown rations hit Adora between the eyes.

Adora screeched and shot upright. Everyone in the mess hall startled and glared at her. “Sorry,” she mouthed at the room.

Catra cackled. Adora threw her a dirty look. “Aren’t we too old for food fights?” Adora said, wiping off her forehead.

Catra narrowed her eyes. “You’re just scared of breaking the rules, you don’t care—”

Adora lobbed a glob of her own ration bar at Catra’s mouth.

It landed in a splatter across Catra’s lips and chin. Adora snorted.

“You’re going to regret that.” Catra lifted the entirety of her ration bar into two palms, expression ferocious.

Adora lifted her hands. “No, no, no! Truce! You can’t attack me. My life is already _over_.”

Catra’s tail flicked behind her. “You are so dramatic.” She dropped her breakfast.

“Am not,” Adora said automatically. “Here, look, I’ll help.” She reached over and wiped off the remaining brown putty from Catra’s mouth.

Catra froze when the pads of Adora’s fingers touched her lips. Her eyes flitted up to Adora’s. Catra didn’t look angry; her face had softened. But her tail had gone all bushy, her whole body tense. Adora was close enough to see each of her freckles, the glowing gold and electric blue of her eyes. Adora thought: _She’s beautiful._

A distant part of Adora’s brain realized that it had been too long and her fingers were still on Catra’s face and—had she ever touched Catra’s lips before? This was really weird, wasn’t it? Was it?

Catra, to Adora’s horror, was the one who finally jerked back. Her sharp, beautiful ( _What?_ the rational part of Adora’s brain demanded) eyes were wide. Catra lifted her hand to her own mouth.

Adora needed to diffuse the tension of the moment somehow, tell Catra she had been kidding around. How? What could she say? She was never good with words, but Catra was still staring at her and—Adora pointed at Catra’s face. “Funny!” she blurted.

“What?” Catra wheezed, like she had taken a hit to the stomach.

Adora realized her finger was still pointing at Catra’s face. “You… look…” _Pretty_. “Funny!” Adora finally got out.

Catra closed her eyes. When she opened them, she glared and wiped at her mouth in hasty fury. She rubbed off the remaining ration bar from her palms, watching it clod together and fall onto the table in pieces.

Adora looked over, hoping Catra would crack a joke at her expense or call her an idiot or—anything, really—but Catra wouldn’t meet her eyes. Adora hunched her shoulders over the meager portion of ration bar left in front of her and stuck it in her mouth, chewing dutifully even though her stomach was still roiling from—whatever all that had been.

Now the loss of the stupid staff had made things weird with Catra, too.

Adora had been playing it off as a joke, but she really did miss her old staff. Some higher up had decided to replace all the old model staffs for “lighter, sleeker models.” They had announced it last week. Yesterday morning their squad had found unwieldy, cheap sticks in place of their old weapons. In the way of many things in the Horde, the decision was made swiftly, without explanation or any input from those most affected.

Adora had loved the old model staff. Perfectly balanced, weighty enough for defense, light enough for offense. The right length for Adora’s height and build. They had been training with them for years now. Adora had begged Shadow Weaver to let her keep the old model, but Shadow Weaver hadn’t even considered it.

“I could petition the Weapons Director,” Adora said. She turned to look at Catra, but Catra had gone back to playing with her food. Adora told herself it was because it was early, and not because Adora had been extremely weird.

“So,” Adora said, keeping her tone light. “Do you think it would work?”

Catra pushed the rest of her breakfast over to Adora. “I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t even know if I can eat it today,” Adora lamented, slipping back into her original anxiety of the morning. She really was dreading their first training session without her staff. “I miss Staffinator already.” She looked at Catra with a pitiful expression.

Catra lifted her top lip and kept pushing the food over.

Adora was forced to grab the ration bar before Catra pushed it into her lap. She sighed. “Okay, fine.” She popped it into her mouth.

“Oh, good, you ate it,” Catra said flatly. “Guess you won’t be shipped off with the other goners.”

“Might as well be,” Adora said, still mournful, still chewing.

Catra groaned. “You can’t get attached to weapons. They change them all the time. Plus you were the one lecturing me about battle-time adaptability, you have to be prepared for anything, blah blah.”

“But I am attached!” Adora whined.

“It’s a stick, Adora.”

“Staffinator,” Adora corrected, “is a perfect killing machine.” She scrunched up her face. “ _Was_ a perfect killing machine!” she faux-wailed.

Catra swiveled on the bench to reach up with her leg and shove at Adora’s torso with one clawed foot. “Stop calling it that. Are you a _baby_?”

“Ew!” Adora pushed Catra’s foot away from her. “Get your smelly—” _Shove_. “foot—” _Jab_. “off me!” she said, already half-laughing.

“Is it?” Catra said archly. Catra lifted her foot further to put it in Adora’s face. “Are you sure?”

Adora screeched, which sent Catra into peals of high-pitched laughter.

An older cadet appeared behind them. Catra and Adora turned around to see him looking at Catra’s raised foot in disgust. “They get more embarrassing every year,” he said, gesturing at Catra and Adora’s antics. The group of older cadets sitting at the bench behind him chuckled.

Catra lowered her foot to the ground. Even though he was three years older, Adora knew this guy. Everyone did. He was the sort who made sure of it. The loudest at assemblies, the first to crack a joke, the center of many a brawl. Despite this, everyone knew he was going to make Force Captain. He was one of the few cadets in the Horde who wasn’t an orphan—his father was an officer. He was a wiry, blue-skinned kid with pointed teeth. Everyone called him Snaggle Tooth. Adora didn’t know his real name. There was a rumor that he filed his teeth himself. Adora and Catra had snickered at the thought.

They weren’t snickering now. He was also known to use his considerable clout on a whim. The story went that he got a Force Captain sent to Beast Island for humming the same tune twice.

Before she could respond, Snaggle Tooth leaned down to Adora’s ear. “Can’t believe Shadow Weaver’s favorite little kid,” he said, “would cause such a _scene_. Maybe you’re not as much of a stuck-up bitch as we all thought.”

Catra had raked her claws across Snaggle Tooth’s cheek before Adora had registered movement.

He cried out, clapped a hand to his face. When he drew it back, his fingers were smeared with blood. “What is wrong with you?” His swagger had disappeared. The question seemed genuine. He looked shocked that a younger cadet made him bleed.

Adora tensed. In the Horde, you didn’t draw blood over a minor offense like that. Not unless you wanted a real fight.

Catra raised her claws again and hissed. She jumped off her seat and he stumbled into the group sitting behind him.

The older cadets at the table laughed, pushing him off them and back toward Catra. “Fight her!” someone yelled. Snaggle Tooth stood, looking wary but willing.

Catra crouched, ready for the attack. Her expression was intent, self-satisfied, eager. Adora knew that she’d send Snaggle Tooth running in minutes. Adora should have been thinking of later, when he would drag himself back to his father and demand revenge of the kind Catra couldn’t forestall with a fight in the mess hall. On another day, Adora would have thought of that. She would have grabbed Catra’s wrist, shook her head, whispered, “Catra,” in the way that meant: _Not here, not now, not this._

But Adora found that she didn’t want to stop her today. She was tired of telling Catra to stop. To be quieter, to be less. Maybe it was because of the staff replacements, or the way the words “stuck-up bitch” rang in Adora’s ears, or the way Catra’s mouth felt under her fingertips. All that mattered was that Adora wanted Catra to show Snaggle Tooth that she was better than him. Adora wanted everyone to know it. And she wanted everyone to know that Catra was fighting him for _her_.

“Catra!” Shadow Weaver’s voice hard and booming. She stood at the entrance, robes waving with magic.

Catra and Adora froze. Even Snaggle Tooth was cowed by Shadow Weaver. Adora peeked a glance at Catra, but her slitted eyes were hard. She didn’t look back.

Adora followed Catra into Shadow Weaver’s office. Catra’s ears were down, her tail still and limp at her side. This was Adora’s fault. Shadow Weaver didn’t understand that when Adora threw a punch, it never turned into such a big deal. But when Catra fought, everyone overreacted. _Cowards,_ Adora thought _._

Adora had let Catra fight her battle for her, even knowing all this—no, Adora had _wanted_ her to—and now Catra would get punished for it.

“Catra,” Shadow Weaver said, standing in front of her desk. She sighed, heavy with disappointment. “There’s no point discussing this with you, is there?”

Catra bowed her head lower.

“Adora,” Shadow Weaver said, wheedling. “You said this wouldn’t happen again.”

“Yes, Shadow Weaver,” she said, as calmly as possible.

“I thought you said you could control her.”

Adora bit her lip, trying to think. What did she want to hear? What were the words to get them out of here the fastest? “It won’t happen again,” Adora said, sounding weak even to herself.

Shadow Weaver said nothing for a few long moments. “Look up, child.”

Adora did.

“I tire of repeating this conversation.” Shadow Weaver did indeed seem tired, Adora thought, noting her drooping hair and the downcast lay of her masks’ white eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Adora said, meaning it. Shadow Weaver had done so much for her, for them. Adora straightened her spine. “I’ll do better.”

Adora had discovered years ago that if she imagined herself like a real soldier hard enough, she could become one. So she thought about the armored soldiers she had grown up admiring, imagined the way they marched with purpose and responded to orders with level voices. They were never scared. Adora wouldn’t be either. She pushed back her shoulders and lifted her chin, and she almost believed it when she told herself: _I am a soldier._

“I wasn’t watching,” Adora continued, “when the others ganged up on Catra, and that’s on me.” The lie came surprisingly easy. No one had ganged up on Catra, not this time, but Adora didn’t know how else to explain what had happened to Shadow Weaver. “I’ll pay better attention from here on out, ma’am.”

Shadow Weaver swiveled to Catra. “The others are still targeting you?” she said, as if this were Catra’s fault.

“Yes,” Catra ground out, not lifting her eyes.

“Perhaps,” Shadow Weaver said, “if you attempted to build alliances instead of clinging to Adora, you would not always be a problem for her.”

Adora saw something in the set of Catra’s jaw that she thought was anger. It scared Adora more than anything yet. “She’s not a problem,” Adora said quickly. Shadow Weaver turned to her, and Adora gulped. “She’s been helping me train with the new staffs, actually, ma’am.” This would be true if “helping” meant “taunting from the rafters.” 

Shadow Weaver stared at them both in silence again, long enough that they were both shifting their weight. “I don’t have time for this,” she said dismissively, and Adora almost sagged in relief. “Adora, you are to take double cleaning shifts the rest of the month. Catra needs not be punished.” She paused again. “If, she is not at fault, as you say.”

Adora nodded, eyes widened. Would they really get out of this with just that?

“Dismissed,” Shadow Weaver said.

Adora and Catra rushed out of the office. They jogged away as soon as they were down the hall and out of earshot. Once they were near the barracks, Adora turned to grin at Catra. “That wasn’t so bad!”

Catra quickened her speed, pulling ahead of Adora down the hall.

“But really, Catra,” Adora continued, jogging to catch up, “all that just for dumb Snaggle Tooth?” She nudged Catra with her elbow, teasing. “I just had cleaning shifts, too,” she grumbled, half-hearted because she was still feeling bubbly and relieved. No half-rations. No solitary. No Black Garnet Chamber. And a _Thank you for getting us out of that one, Adora,_ would be nice, too.

Catra started walking faster, hunched over. She balled her fists at her sides. “I didn’t ask for you to lie for me,” she bit out.

Adora was jogging to keep up. How did Catra keep getting faster? Adora felt her face heating in anger. “Okay,” she said, trying to stay calm. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

“I can speak for myself,” Catra said. “I don’t want you to—” Catra waved her hand at Adora. “Nobody ganged up on me.”

“I know that, but—”

Catra stopped walking. “I don’t _cling_ to you,” Catra said, and the words weren’t loud, not really, but the way Catra said them, Adora felt like she was screaming them. Catra stared at her, an expression like a glare—fierce, but empty.

“I don’t know why you’re mad,” Adora said. “The cleaning is nothing, it all turned out fine.” Adora reached out to touch Catra’s arm, a reflexive gesture.

But Catra snatched her arm away, cradling it like Adora had hit her. “You don’t know anything,” she said, and ran off down the hallway.

It was a bad week, after that.

The cleaning shifts weren’t fun, but Adora didn’t actually mind them. It was satisfying work, if boring. What was worse was losing in hand-to-hand every day. She could not figure out the new staffs. What had once felt like an extension of her own body was strange now. She felt she was battling the staff itself more than her opponent. She had lost—again—to Lonnie earlier that afternoon. She had almost lost to _Kyle_. Catra would have absolutely annihilated her, of course, but Catra refused to spar with her.

Catra was ignoring her. Adora was used to Catra’s mercurial moods. She understood that Catra got angry, and sometimes that anger was directed at Adora, too. But Adora was not used to Catra ignoring her. Catra wasn’t even sitting with her at meal-times. It had been a _week_.

Catra was sitting with younger cadets who were looking at her in open-mouthed awe at breakfast that morning. Adora was trying to pay attention to Lonnie and Kyle’s impassioned rendition of a teacher’s stumble in class, but she kept looking over at Catra’s table.

“Who even are they?” Adora froze at Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio’s surprised faces—Adora hadn’t realized how loud her voice was. She set her teeth in an apologetic grimace.

“Who?” Lonnie said.

Adora considered pretending she had misspoken, but Kyle was already looking over his shoulder where Adora had been looking. “Oh, with Catra?” he said. “I forget their names. They were in Strategic Occupation with us, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Adora said. She did not remember.

“Why’s Catra sitting with them?” Kyle said, without an ounce of malice—or tact.

“How am I supposed to know.” Adora meant it to be scathing but it came out sort of pathetic.

“She’s always mad about something,” Lonnie said. “Let her have her hissy fit, she’ll get it over it eventually.” She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Adora pushed her tray away from her.

Lonnie put her hands up. “Fine, whatever. I don’t know why you defend her all the time.”

Adora stood up. This was ridiculous. She’d make Catra talk to her. It was _Catra_.

Adora looked at Lonnie. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Lonnie shrugged. “It’s fine.”

Adora was halfway to Catra, who was crumbling up her ration bars and throwing the pieces at an older girl behind her, when Shadow Weaver walked in the room.

“Good,” Shadow Weaver said spotting Adora and thankfully not Catra’s infraction. “You’re already up. Follow me, Adora.” She left the room without another word.

Catra had turned around to look at Adora, her eyes narrowed. Adora opened her mouth to say—something, but then Snaggle Tooth said, “ _Mommy’s_ calling, Adora.” The tension in the room broke, everybody laughing at Adora.

Adora flushed. That wasn’t even _funny_ , and usually she’d be able to snap back, or even threaten a fight, but her hands were bleeding from the cleaning chemicals, and she was terrible in training without her stupid staff, and Catra hadn’t talked to her for _a week_ , and—she hurried out of the room. She had been about to cry. She hadn’t cried in front of anyone beside Catra for years. Even with Catra, they both pretended they weren’t real tears. She felt her breath catching. She pressed her palms to her eyes, hard. She couldn’t do this now. She was already lagging far behind Shadow Weaver. She swallowed, set her shoulders back. _I’m a soldier._

“I have good news, Adora,” Shadow Weaver said. They were in her office again, Shadow Weaver sitting behind the desk with her fingers splayed out in front of her. “I’ve secured you a position with an older squadron. They’re beginning Practicals. You will join them for one week, starting tomorrow. If you do well, you’d be on the fast track to Force Captain.”

Adora blinked. She had been sure Shadow Weaver was mad about something—Adora had not exactly done her best work cleaning the showers. And she was usually mad. Adora’s stomach had soured so much in the last few minutes before Shadow Weaver spoke that she really had to concentrate on breathing to avoid vomiting. But no, Adora’s stomach was wrong, this was an opportunity. A really, really good opportunity. “Shadow Weaver, that’s—that—thank you,” Adora said fervently.

Shadow Weaver nodded, her expression light. It wasn’t a smile—Shadow Weaver didn’t smile—but her masks’ mouth lost its usual stern edge. That was okay. Soldiers didn’t need smiles.

The night before Adora was to leave to train with the older squad, Adora couldn’t sleep. She still hadn’t spoken to Catra. Or, more accurately, Catra hadn’t spoken to her. Adora thrashed around, ears straining to hear if Catra was really sleeping or not. She eventually gave up and pulled her head up and over the top bunk.

“Catra,” she whispered.

But Catra wasn’t in bed. She must have snuck off sometime in the hours after lights out. Adora hadn’t even heard her leave. Usually, Adora would go follow her. She knew where to look. But usually, Catra didn’t ignore her for a week.

Adora left a note inside Catra’s pillowcase instead.

The first section of Practicals were split into Combat and Transport. One group would be training in hand-to-hand combat, the other on the skiffs. Shadow Weaver allowed Adora to choose which she wanted to start with, since she was starting with less training.

Normally, Adora would choose hand-to-hand, no question. But that was before they had switched the staffs, before Adora was losing to everyone in the squad except for Kyle.

Adora had not mastered skiff piloting. Adora had trouble with the flying machines from the first time she had driven one a year ago. She didn’t have a sense for the controls. She was always too fast or too slow. She struggled with even the lateral steering, and was almost hopeless when it came to the altitude controls. Catra always said she was fighting for control with the skiff instead of working with it. _I just like being able to do things myself,_ Adora had grumbled. _Do you think you can fly on your own, Adora?_ Catra had said.

But Adora would have to do it. There was no way she could learn the new staff and keep up with this older, more experienced squad at the same time. She chose to join the Transport team.

The first day was in the classroom. The work was so boring that by the end of the day she was wishing for a fight. The thought surprised her. Who was she, Catra?

Adora sat near some of the others at meal-times, but they would barely talk to her. During Practicals, they ate at different times than her old squad, so Adora didn’t even see them at all.

She had been worried about the bunking situation, but that night Adora discovered that she needn’t have wasted the energy. There were so many extra beds that she didn’t have to bunk with anyone. She dragged a pillow and blanket to the far corner of the barracks and curled up on the bottom bunk. These barracks were about as far away from her own squadron’s as she could be and still be in the Fright Zone. _Fast track to Force Captain,_ she told herself, with her and Catra’s old mantra about that happy future: Better food. Personal Bedrooms. _We’ll run this place,_ Catra would say with her sharp grin.

On the second night, Adora snuck out. She checked the barracks first, but no Catra.

Adora climbed the tower to Catra’s favorite spot. It was still terrifying. It would not stop her. Catra would be up here. She was always up here when she was upset. Catra might be ignoring her, but she would always run to where Adora could find her.

Catra wasn’t there. Adora watched the moons slide across the sky. The wind was strong; Adora was freezing.

Adora came up to the tower for three nights in a row, and waited. Catra didn’t come. She didn’t want to be found. Adora left her third note, and wondered for the first time if Catra would even read it.

The fourth day was paired racing. They assigned Snaggle Tooth as Adora’s partner. Adora supposed she was inured to bad news, because she wasn’t even surprised. 

After Adora had geared up, checked for fuel, done basic safety precautions, Shadow Weaver pulled her aside. They were in a glade near the starting line, the skiffs whining in the background ominously. Adora just wanted this day to be over.

“Adora, this race is important.” Shadow Weaver’s hand tightened on Adora’s shoulder blade.

“Of course, Shadow Weaver.” Adora bowed her head.

“I have news.” Shadow Weaver pulled her hands back, steepling her own together. “If you do well today, we may be able to secure you a permanent position on this team.”

Adora stared. “Wow,” she said, after a few moments, “thank you so much, I—wait. Permanent? Like…. permanent?” Adora was wincing even before Shadow Weaver responded. She knew her mentor hated to repeat herself. “I mean—”

“Yes,” Shadow Weaver hissed, anticipation clear in her voice. “You would never have to rejoin your old squadron. You could make Force Captain within the next two years, if you apply yourself.”

Shadow Weaver continued on about her future, but Adora couldn’t listen. She would have to stay here. Move out of the barracks. Forever.

“What about Catra?” Adora blurted out. She snapped her mouth shut at Shadow Weaver’s clear displeasure at being interrupted. “Sorry. Ma’am. But she would be such an—an amazing addition to this team, too. Her marks have been at least as good as mine, and—”

“That would not be possible,” Shadow Weaver said. “She is unfit for a team this advanced. I do not want to hear it suggested again.” She leaned forward, closer to Adora’s face. “You must rid yourself of this… attachment to the girl. She will do nothing but hold you back.”

“But she’s way better on the skiffs,” Adora said, fighting to keep her voice and breathing even. “She’s beat me every time. She—”

“Adora,” Shadow Weaver said, disappointed. Sad, even. “You know I want what’s best for you, don’t you?”

“Yes, Shadow Weaver.”

“Good. Because if you’re distracted during this race you may as well throw away your future.”

Adora flinched. “Sorry.”

“Focus on the race.” Shadow Weaver had disappeared by the time Adora looked up.

Shadow Weaver was right. But her mind was buzzing with the news. A permanent transfer? She hadn’t thought that was a possibility. Force Captain within the next two years? It should be at least five years away. But she would have to leave the squadron. Leave Catra.

Maybe Catra wouldn’t care. Maybe they weren’t even friends anymore.

The thought made Adora feel sick. But she couldn’t feel that way, couldn’t think about it. She found the skiff, did the safety checks again. When she felt her eyes sting, she dug her nails into her palms. _You are not a person who cries_ , she thought. _You are not a person who fails_.

This racing was different from any Adora had done before. They were to race _outside._ Not on the training fields, but outside of the Fright Zone’s perimeter. This meant rough terrain, unexpected weather conditions, maybe even unexpected people. Adora would never admit it to anyone, but it scared her to leave. The route ran close to the Whispering Woods—there could be beasts here on the plain, hostile villagers, rebels, even princesses.

The skiffs were meant to be piloted by two—one person to direct, the other to drive. Adora knew she was better at directing than driving, but of course Snaggle Tooth demanded to be in charge.

“Or is driving too hard for you?” he said, to punctuate his demand.

Adora could do nothing but take the controls. It was a six-mile course. Conditions were good—warm, wind low and consistent, and the first section of terrain was even and straightforward.

“Hey,” Adora said, while they were in the long stretch. They had already pulled ahead of the others, and this section would take at least ten minutes. “What’s your real name?

He stared at her. He looked younger when he wasn’t baring his sharp teeth.

“I mean, I know you roll with the ‘Snaggle Tooth’ thing, which is cool, but it’s kinda…mean?” Adora ventured. “We’re working together, now. So, what do your friends call you?”

He turned to look at Adora, and Adora felt like it was the first time he was really looking at her. She saw his jaw working, his pupils flitting back and forth across the expanse before them. He was tall, she realized. She was craning her neck to look at his face. For all his meanness and bluster, he had never seemed to take up much space.

Adora waited for him to respond. She had a lot of experience waiting for people to talk.

It turned out he wasn’t like Catra, though, who grew calmer if given time. Snaggle Tooth grew more and more agitated as Adora waited for him to speak. Adora didn’t know how the pause could be so uncomfortable when it was far from silent—the drone of the skiff’s engine, the roar the wind made as they cut a path through the air.

Snaggle Tooth was visibly uneasy, shifting his weight, his eyes flitting back and forth. Adora had seen this sort of cornered panic before. It was like a cadet being publicly admonished. Adora felt weird, being made to feel like an unreasonable CO. She had meant the question as a peace offering, and he was acting as if she had threatened him.

“Uh, it’s fine,” Adora said finally. “I get it, we’re not friends. I’ll just call you Tooth, then, okay?”

“No,” Tooth bit out.

“You really want me to call you Snaggle Tooth?” Adora said.

“Call me Commander,” he said, some of his bluster back.

Adora snorted. “But you’re not—”

“What is it with you?” he said. “Friends, or names, or whatever. We’re training for _war_. Grow up.”

Adora tightened her grip on the control, trained her eyes in front of her.

“No wonder you hang around that psycho all the time,” he said.

“Shut up,” Adora said. Her hand was so sweaty on the control that she had to swap it for the other to wipe her palm on her pants.

“She’s your ‘best friend,’ right?” he said, mocking.

Adora considered him out of the corner of her eye. “What about it?”

“Then you’ll tell her,” he said, “to back off. If she comes near me again, it’ll be you that pays.”

“What?” Adora spluttered, laughing. She had thought he was going to threaten Catra’s career, maybe, but not this. “After this race, we can fight whenever you want.”

Tooth didn’t say anything else, but instead leaned against the back storage, arms folded.

Adora was starting to think he’d given up on directing and she’d have to somehow do both, when he said, “Hard right.”

“But we’re still ahead!” Adora said. She checked over her shoulder once to make sure. Yes, the others were still well behind. Adora hadn’t realized—she only thought she was bad at driving compared to Catra. She was still way better than this squad. She grinned to herself.

Last night, Adora had studied this course’s maps. There was a clear, direct path on this course, and a much more difficult, technically shorter path at the first fork’s right. Adora did the math several times—the only way you would take the risky short cut was if you were so far behind that it was your only chance. Otherwise, it was better to maintain the fastest speed possible on the straightforward path. At the rate they were pulling ahead of the others, they would be in first place even if one of the others managed the short cut.

“I’m directing,” he said.

“But I studied the maps last night,” Adora started, “and how much you’d have to slow down for the short cut means—”

“Then don’t slow down,” he said, a dare.

Adora had never been able to turn down a dare. She flung the control to the right.

The skiff was pushed so far on its side that they both nearly fell out. They were only five feet off the ground on this easy terrain—it would have ended in only minor injuries—but they would never recover their position in the race. They’d get last place for sure.

“Get it! Get it!” Tooth was screaming nonsensically, clinging to a handlebar in the back.

Adora had pulled them out of the turn but the skiff was listing to the other side now, threatening to dump them onto the ground. What was it Catra said? _You keep trying to do everything yourself, Adora. The skiff wants to balance itself._

Adora let go of the control.

The skiff righted itself so quickly that Adora had to grab at the back handrail to keep herself from sliding into Snaggle Tooth. They were parallel to the ground again, and had slowed down to a crawl with no power on the throttle. Adora lurched for the throttle—they would stall if she let it go any slower.

She felt the machine respond. She sighed in relief. It didn’t stall. There was still a chance she would win this.

Tooth was gasping behind her.

“I mean,” Adora said, with the best smirk she could muster. “I didn’t slow down.”

“You think this is a game?” Tooth demanded.

Adora was at a loss. No one had ever accused her of not taking things seriously enough.

The grassy plain gave way to a rocky cliffside. They were in the area around the quarry, a maze of jagged, unforgiving slopes. The outcroppings of rock were tall here, too tall to fly above and avoid entirely. Adora would have to spend all her concentration just to weave in and out of the pillars of stone. “Come on,” Adora said. “You have to tell me where to go.”

Tooth finally did. He directed Adora through the rocky area, leading her in the general direction they needed to go. Adora was concentrating so hard on keeping a decent pace and avoiding a collision with any of the many obstacles that she didn’t realize Tooth had led them all the way to the edge of the quarry until they were already there.

“We’re too far south,” Adora said. “We need to be—”

“Shut up.” Tooth pressed Adora’s hand on the control. “I’m directing.”

Adora looked down again. They were over the quarry now. Skiffs weren’t meant to be flown so high above the ground. Their engines weren’t powerful enough to manage strong air currents. Plus, although no one in the Horde dared bring up safety much, the open, harness-less vehicles were clearly not outfitted for falls from any great height.

“We’re over the quarry,” Adora said, keeping her voice as steady and non-threatening as she could.

“Faster.” Tooth pushed Adora’s hand on the throttle.

“No!” Adora yelled, feeling the fear and the anger and the stress. She didn’t have a choice about the staffs, and she didn’t have a choice about Catra ignoring her, and she didn’t have a choice about the transfer, and she definitely did not have a choice about partnering with Tooth, but she would not allow him to push her around.

“Get off me.” Adora elbowed Tooth in the gut.

Tooth hit back. Hard.

Adora was trying to get her hand back on the controls. She wasn’t balanced on the skiff; she was unprepared. She was flung to the side, sliding over the edge of the skiff.

She grasped at the smooth surface, but there was nothing there to hold on to. She kept sliding. Her fingers finally found purchase on a pole that ran the length of the skiff. She was hanging by that out over the ravine. She looked down—the water was at least a hundred feet below her.

Tooth was at the controls now. He looked down at her once, looked forward again.

“Help me up,” Adora said, less a command than a sob.

He looked down at her again. “Dad said he wouldn’t go after Shadow Weaver’s kids. He wouldn’t do anything for me. That bitch was gunna get away with it.” He gulped.

Adora’s hands were slick. Her grasp was tight, but her fingers ached. The wind blew fast and hard. She looked down at her feet, dangling above the drop. The water was so far down it looked like cement.

“Accidents happen on skiffs all the time,” he said.

It wasn’t until he said that that Adora realized he meant to kill her, wanted to let her die. And for what? Catra scratching him?

“Shoulda been her,” he said, and through it all Adora noticed his teeth were chattering. He was scared. Scared to kill her. Going to do it anyway. “But this works. She’ll get the point. You two are close, aren’t you?” he said in a mocking baby voice. “I can’t believe you actually did it, drove right out over the quarry. I warned you.” He laughed, a sharp, wild sound.

Adora thought her right arm might pop out of her shoulder socket. She could barely feel her fingers.

She looked up at the skiff. There was a ladder, two feet from where her fingers were grasping the bar. Above it, hanging close to the edge, the length of rope used to open the storage compartment. At first, it had looked impossibly far. If she was being honest, it still did. But it was the only option.

Adora swung her body up and over, hooking a leg onto the rung of the ladder and an arm onto the rung above that. Once her body was moving, it was easier to stop thinking. She was strong, she was trained. She let the momentum help her bend upward, grab the rope.

She used the rope to help her other leg onto the ladder, and from there it was easy. Reach upward, slide her feet onto the rungs of the ladder, and climb. Tooth had at least steered them away from the ravine, they were in a relatively clear area now, almost circled back to the clear plain of the last stretch of the course.

Tooth looked over his shoulder at her in horror. Adora grabbed him by the back of his jacket, trusting that the skiff would balance itself for a few moments, and slammed him into metal storage lid. She felt no pain at all now, but only the heady, buzz of victory. She punched him in the gut.

“If you ever go after either of us again, I’ll tell Shadow Weaver exactly what you did.” Adora bent his arm back behind his body until he gasped in pain. “Do you understand? She outranks your father.”

He swallowed, nodded.

“Now take us back.”

He did, Adora tying the rope to her arm in case he tried anything again.

“You’ll tell her anyway, won’t you?” he said.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Adora narrowed her eyes at him. “Just drive.” She had an idea.

When they crossed the finish line, Adora barely registered the clapping. Somehow they had still won the race. It didn’t matter.

Once she was sure everyone could see them, the CO, a few others from another squadron, and Shadow Weaver, most of all, Adora hauled Tooth up by his shirt and punched him in the face.

“Remember what I said,” she growled, and dropped him.

If she told Shadow Weaver he had tried to kill her, Shadow Weaver would get him sent away, maybe even charge him. But nothing else would change. The transfer would still go through, and Adora would still have to move to the more advanced squadron.

But if Adora were the one at fault, if Tooth complained to his father about this, they’d have to send Adora back. They were already making an exception for her. They expected perfect behavior, perfect scores. Punching an officer’s son would not be accepted.

It wasn’t. Shadow Weaver was furious. But for the first time in her life, Adora was relieved by failure. She could pretend to everyone else that her anger had gotten the better of her—that was an emotion everyone in the Fright Zone understood. But it wasn’t anger Adora was holding on to.

Since that moment hanging from the skiff, Adora had been consumed by a thought: _I could have fallen._ They’d never recover her body from that quarry. No one would ever have found her. She would have been alone forever. Somewhere deep in her heart, where she wasn’t a soldier, where she had been scared to die, and never wanted to be that scared again, she thought: _I want to go home._ She really hoped Catra wasn’t still mad.

* * *

A note. Adora had left with nothing but a _note_. When Catra had found it in her pillowcase, she had read the bit about Adora leaving for a week and promptly ripped up the offending scrap of notebook paper. And then, while Catra was considering at the scraps littering her bed, the others had burst into the barracks. She stuffed the pieces in her pocket.

That day was particularly boring. All classroom. Kyle kept clicking his pen, Lonnie kept answering every question perfectly, it was unbearable. Catra skipped the next class, locked herself in the bathroom, and because she didn’t have anything better to do, taped the pieces of the note back together.

_Good job today! I didn’t think anyone could get the jump on Rogelio like that. I’m training with a different squad this week. They’re starting Practicals. I better not have to bunk with Snaggle Tooth. Can’t believe it’s his squad. How is my luck this bad?? Other than that, it’s fun though! I wish you were here with me._

_Are you still mad? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a jerk about the cleaning shifts. Not your fault! Next week, Operation Steal Kyle’s Pencils._

Adora drew a really bad version of her cartoon face. The ponytail was too low, and she hadn’t even drawn her own dumb poof.

 _Are you still mad?_ Catra mimicked Adora’s voice under her breath in a rather uncharitable, oblivious monotone. About the cleaning shifts? Did she listen to _anything_ Catra said _ever_?

Catra almost ripped up the note again, but she got distracted by the first part. Catra had wiped the floor with Rogelio. She didn’t know Adora had been watching.

She was with Snaggle Tooth’s squad. Catra snorted. Adora really thought that was bad luck? Shadow Weaver didn’t do anything by accident. She probably thought it was necessary for Adora’s success as a leader or something. Everything Shadow Weaver did was for Adora. Adora would probably smooth things over with Snaggle Tooth, make friends with him, he’d put a good word in with his father. Catra growled.

Catra didn’t need Adora’s tepid praise, and she definitely didn’t need her half-hearted apology. Like she thought Catra _wanted_ to be there.

“Yeah, I really wish I could tag along for your dumb training, Adora,” Catra muttered. She dropped the note in the toilet bowl and flushed it.

Catra had to sit with Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio at breakfast that next morning. Those other kids she had been sitting with—Jenna and Brock? Jeannie and Brad? Catra didn’t remember—said she was “drawing too much attention to them.” They meant they were too scared to stick up for themselves. _Cowards_.

So Catra had to listen to Lonnie complain about some new tutor while they ate. As if anyone could be as bad as Shadow Weaver. At least Shadow Weaver wouldn’t be around this week. She would be with _Adora_.

 _Good,_ Catra thought, _Adora can spend every second with the old witch breathing down her neck for once. See how she likes it._ But Adora _would_ like it. She was probably having the time of her life.

“What?” Lonnie said. “Jeeze, Catra.”

Catra looked down. She had smashed her ration bar so hard with her fist that it had splattered. Lonnie was brushing specks from her shirt.

“Can’t take a little mess?” Catra said. “Gunna cry over it later?”

Lonnie groaned. “You’re even worse when Adora’s not here.”

It had been a long time since Catra had scratched Lonnie. Catra looked down at her claws. Maybe _too_ long.

“Where is she, anyway?” Kyle leaned over Lonnie to look at Catra.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Catra said, smug. So Adora hadn’t told them.

“Is she in solitary?” Kyle asked, eyes wide.

Lonnie hit his head with the flat of her hand. “Obviously not, Kyle. Adora doesn’t get sent to solitary. Not even…”

Catra knew she was thinking of the incident with Snaggle Tooth.

“Catra,” Lonnie said, voice harsher. “Did you get Adora sent to solitary for that?”

“No,” Catra said, shoving Lonnie’s shoulder with two hands. “Like that’d ever happen.”

“Hmphf.” Lonnie put her elbows on the table. “Well, you get _us_ in trouble all the time. If you get our rations cut this week without Adora around, I’ll tell Shadow Weaver about you sneaking out at night, I swear.”

Catra flung herself off the bench. “You try it,” she hissed. “Go ahead.”

Lonnie grabbed her wrist before she could leave. “Listen. I don’t want to turn you in. I just—we’re hungry as it is. Where do you even run off to? You don’t have to. You can hang out with us when Adora’s gone.”

“I don’t _run off_.” Catra pulled her arm from Lonnie’s grasp. She crossed her arms in front of her. “Shadow Weaver won’t be around this week,” she mumbled. “You don’t have to worry about me ruining your life.”

Catra had already been down this vent, she was sure of it. It should have worked. She had been mapping this section of the Fright Zone’s ventilation ducts for weeks now. But it didn’t. Either she took one too many lefts, and had crawled around up here in a circle, or the ducts really didn’t run above the med bay and armory.

Catra had been wanting to find a short cut to the med bay for years. It had _sweets._ Catra had been sent to the med bay after fainting in training once. The medic gave her a chewy bar he called “fruit and honey.” Everyone knew about the sweets, but what most people hadn’t figured out was that the medics sometimes kept other snacks in there.

Catra would pretend she was asleep on the cot until the medic would wander off and paw through the drawers. Salty little kernels, strips of dried savory brown stuff. Catra had no idea what any of it was but she loved all of it. She had brought some of the sweets back to Adora once, but Adora had looked at them horror and told Catra never to go back. Catra had rolled her eyes. Adora never considered that she might _not_ get caught.

It was getting harder, now that she was older, for Catra to fake the fainting spells. If she could just find the ventilation path and sneak in at night, she’d have access to a near _unlimited_ supply.

She took out the crude map she’d been drawing of the ducts. There was one more thing she could try. There was a duct than ran above the Black Garnet Chamber.

Catra licked her lips, looking down the duct before her. It would be bad if Shadow Weaver somehow found her above her creepy magic room. Catra felt her stomach drop, a hollow feeling.

But Catra was tired of letting Shadow Weaver control her. That was Adora’s thing. Catra made her own decisions.

Catra took a deep breath, and crawled over Shadow Weaver’s room. She slipped—she was going too fast, her hands were too sweaty. She froze, listening, finally inching forward to peer down into the chamber through a vent. But Shadow Weaver wasn’t there. The Black Garnet was there like always, crackling with an angry energy that Catra thought she understood.

Shadow Weaver wasn’t there. Of course she wasn’t, she was with Adora. Catra felt like her hollow insides had been suddenly filled with lead. It wasn’t like she wanted to get in trouble. It wasn’t.

Is this what it would have been like, if she had never met Adora? Would she have spent all her time wandering the vents, unseen, unheard, practically invisible?

She was right—this duct ran across the Black Garnet Chamber, over the armory, and to the med bay. Catra didn’t feel the delight she had thought she would.

The next day, Catra was curled up on Adora’s bed, too lazy to climb into her own bunk. Shadow Weaver floated into the room, and Catra swore she felt the temperature drop.

“Catra, I’d like to speak with you.” She turned and left without waiting to see if Catra had even heard her.

Catra followed her out, ignoring the worried looks Lonnie, Kyle and Rogelio were sending her. Catra was in something like shock. “I’d like to speak with you,” she had said. She had never said she _wanted_ to talk to Catra. Maybe this wasn’t going to be a punishment. Maybe she had seen how good Catra’s scores in hand-to-hand had been? Catra felt her heart soar. Was she going to have Catra join Adora in Practicals?

“Close the door.” Shadow Weaver sat at her desk.

Catra did so and sat facing her.

“Are you paying attention, Catra?” Shadow Weaver looked energized. Catra thought it was her magic that made her sharper on some days. Catra knew from experience that her energy could be a good sign or a very, very bad one. “I know you have little experience in doing so, but for once you need to listen.”

“Yes, uh—” Catra swallowed, looked down. “Ma’am.”

“I’ve found you a position.” Shadow Weaver narrowed her eyes. “One that suits your… tendencies.”

A position? Catra didn’t even know what that meant. She’d be a cadet for years more.

“The Western Outpost needs an apprentice. Convey communications, manage supply routes, that sort of thing.” She waved a hand. “Simple work, far from the front lines, I’m sure you’d find it suitable. I’m sure you know,” she waited for Catra to meet her gaze, “that many would jump at such an opportunity.”

Catra did know this. They were the safest places, and the least demanding roles. Kids with no ambition wanted them. Kids who were no good in combat, who didn’t want to fight. Kids like Kyle.

For everyone else, those posts were insulting.

“But,” Catra said, and she couldn’t even finish her sentence. Couldn’t say, “Cadet training doesn’t end until I’m eighteen,” or, “My scores are better than Lonnie’s,” or, “Why do you hate me so much?”

“I hope that’s not a lack of gratitude I hear,” Shadow Weaver drawled. “They would make an exception, in this case. They need someone trained now. You could go within the month.”

Next month. Catra heard a roaring in her ears. She was shipping her off, throwing her away. She would never ride in a tank, see the world. She would have to leave everyone, she would have to leave—

“But I get to choose,” Catra said, wincing at the pleading note in her own voice. She already knew that it was mostly a sham, but there was within the Horde at least the illusion of choice about where you were posted. Next year when they started Practicals, they would choose which track they wanted to pursue, whether Combat or Medic Training or Tech. Everyone knew this. 

Catra knew that she didn’t have much, but they couldn’t take this away from her, too. Not this. _We’ll run this place someday._

“Yes,” Shadow Weaver said, as if Catra’s whole life were another inconvenience for her. “It’s your choice. You’ve always been in control of your own life. You like to blame me for your misfortunes, but we both know you are the author of your own destruction. My aim is to minimize that.”

“You think I’ll mess things up for Adora,” Catra realized.

Shadow Weaver lifted her hands. “So you do understand,” she said.

“You want me gone,” Catra said. Why did it hurt? She knew it already.

“I want a future for Adora,” Shadow Weaver said. “I don’t want to hear your answer now. I want you to think. Report back to me in two days’ time.” She waved a hand. “Get back to work.”

Catra felt both heavy and light—somehow her body was both too much to move and not enough to get her out of the room. But somehow she walked out. That was the Fright Zone, demanding the impossible. And Catra, always trying to obey.

Catra climbed up the tower to her favorite quiet spot. She had been spending so much time mapping the vents that she hadn’t come here for days.

It was the only place she thought of as her own. And even that, she knew now, was a fantasy. She had nothing.

The Western Outpost was as safe as it got in the Horde. Soldiers stayed there for years and years. And there wouldn’t be any Shadow Weaver, so far away. No punishments. No threats. Catra allowed herself to think it: maybe she wanted to be safe.

Catra sat on the railing, legs hanging over the drop. She noticed some notebook paper stuck between the railing and the roof. She pried three pieces from the space.

_Thought I’d find you up here! Guess you’re in bed. Practicals are hard. : ( See you! A_

Catra couldn’t believe she was complaining about Practicals to _her_. Of course it was hard, it was an _honor_. Catra scrunched up the note into a ball and threw it off the ledge.

_I told you my luck was bad! It’s just getting worse!! Anyway, hope you’re okay, didn’t see you in the barracks either._

“Obviously I’m fine,” Catra grumbled. She flicked the note off the ledge with her finger and thumb.

_Hey, maybe you don’t come up here anymore. If you’re seeing this, I really am sorry. I miss you. Practicals suck._

Catra realized Adora had come up here three nights in a row. During Practicals. They were notoriously exhausting, and that squad’s barracks were at the opposite side of the compound. It would take Adora an hour to sneak here on foot.

Catra read the last note again. _I miss you._ Catra pressed the scrap of paper to her chest.

Catra knew why Adora was complaining so much about Practicals. She knew Adora would choose Hand-to-hand, and she knew Adora was losing because she didn’t have that stupid staff. Catra was sure Adora would be fine with the new staffs if she just got over it, but she refused. It would be funny if Adora hadn’t been whining constantly.

 _Lucky for you, Adora,_ Catra thought as she snuck into the armory that night, _I just found a way in._ She had seen on her last jaunt to the med bay that they were keeping the old staffs here. She wanted to take a stun baton, too, but they were under lock and key. Another time.

Catra snuck over to the older squad’s barracks in record time. She perched on the piping, searching for a blonde poof.

Catra lowered herself onto her bunk, down onto the bottom mattress. She held the staff in one hand and leaned over Adora to press a finger to her creased forehead. To her surprise—it usually took Adora forever to wake up—Adora startled awake, grabbing at Catra’s wrist. Catra jerked back, and Adora followed her, causing both of them to hit their heads on the railing of the top bunk.

“Ow,” they both said. Catra glared. Adora gave her a pitiful, dazed look.

Adora pressed a hand to her mouth, realizing where they were, and started giggling.

“Adora, shut up,” Catra hissed.

“You’re the one who climbed on top of me in my bed,” Adora whispered.

“I didn’t climb on top—ugh, whatever, I shouldn’t have come here.” Catra made to move off the bed, but Adora put an arm out to block her.

“No, don’t go!” Adora leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Catra. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Catra let her head rest on Adora’s shoulder. She didn’t even remember the last time they touched like this, soft and close, with hands and hair and skin touching. Not training, not a fight. This wasn’t exactly encouraged. Catra felt Adora’s heartbeat under her cheek, pulsing along her clavicle. Inexplicably, it made her think of when Adora had touched her lips in the mess hall that day, of how Catra had thought she _meant it_ , at first. Of how Catra had wanted her to mean it.

Catra pulled away. “So they haven’t shipped you out with the other losers yet?”

Adora frowned. “Not yet.”

“About that,” Catra said, feeling suddenly nervous. “Look—uh—here.” She reached down to where she had set the staff on the floor and pressed it into Adora’s lap.

Adora took the staff in her hands, letting its weight settle in her grip. Even in the dark, Catra could see her eyes light up. “My staff?!”

“Adora, be _quiet_!” Catra said.

“But—how is this—this is really it?”

“Yeah.” Catra shrugged.

“How did you get this?” Adora said.

“I just got it,” Catra said. “It’s not a big deal.”

Adora’s brows scrunched up. “You stole it, didn’t you?”

“What?” Catra said. “Are you gunna turn me in?”

“They’ll put you in solitary for a week if they find out,” Adora whispered.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Catra said. “It’s a nice break, actually. I can sleep through a whole night without your snoring.”

“You _hate_ solitary,” Adora insisted, voice even quieter, reverent.

Catra bristled. She had admitted… a lot of things after her last stint in the tiny cell. She did hate it. It was almost worse than Shadow Weaver’s punishments. And that was after only three days. Solitary was boring, and quiet, and they never gave you enough food to feel quite full. But the worst part was that even after a few days she lost all track of time, all sense of perspective. She had admitted to Adora that she had been sure they were going to keep her there forever. Adora had sat with her for hours, just near her, as Catra shook, unable to believe she was free.

“Not that much,” Catra said, the lie sounding weak even to her. Adora just kept staring down at the staff in her hands. “So?” Catra said. “Are you really gunna turn me in?”

Adora’s eyes snapped up. “What? No. I would never turn you in.”

Catra’s chest felt warm and full. “You looove the rules, though.”

“You got this for me,” Adora said, her voice sounding all weird.

“Yeah, stupid, I told you that like ten minutes—”

Catra was cut off by Adora surging forward to hold Catra again. Adora gripped her so tight Catra thought her fingers might leave bruises. Catra turned her face into the fall of Adora’s ponytail. She was letting it grow out. It was like gold, in the dark. It smelled of oil. She was warm with sleep. Had it always been like this, with Adora? Had Catra always felt like this?

Catra was noticing new things these days, even before that day at breakfast—the smell of her hair, of her neck. The way her eyes sparked when Catra said something funny. Being with Adora had always been comforting. It was only with Adora that Catra ever felt safe. But lately, Catra was feeling restless. Not long ago, Adora had thrown an arm around her when they were up on the roof—Adora always did that, it was nothing different—and Catra had nuzzled into Adora’s neck, and she had turned her mouth inward, and she had almost, she had wanted to—

She felt the same feeling, now. She wanted to kiss Adora there, right where her neck met her shoulders. She couldn’t _do that_. Adora wouldn’t want her to put her mouth there, to even be _thinking_ of—

Adora pulled back, oblivious of Catra’s internal crisis. Adora had her own conflicted expression. “Catra, you know I care about you, right?” she said.

Catra couldn’t breathe. Was she really saying…? “What do you mean?” Catra said, in a squeaky voice.

Adora’s face fell. “I mean, aren’t we still… best friends? Don’t we still look out for each other?”

“Friends,” Catra said, her voice rough, low.

Adora bit her lip, held her arms to her chest. “Do you not…” She took a shaky breath, her face miserable, something wobbly in the line of her mouth. “Want to be around me so much anymore? Is that why you’ve been…”

Catra knew more than anyone that the Fright Zone was a cold, unforgiving place. Lonnie and the others found her annoying at best. Shadow Weaver hated her. Adora was the one who listened when Catra complained, the only one who cleaned up her cuts after training, the only person who ever looked happy to see her.

Adora was all Catra had. And Catra _did_ cling to her, she always had. Catra had tried to stop, but she couldn’t. She didn’t even want to.

It didn’t matter that all Adora wanted was friendship. Catra had always wanted more than she could have.

“Yeah,” Catra said, breathless. She reached forward to grip Adora’s forearms when her face blanched. “I mean, no, we’re friends. Best friends.”

“Yeah?” Adora said, her eyes lighting up.

“Yeah.”

Adora swallowed, and her expression sharpened into a smirk. “I can’t believe you got me this.” Her eyes flitted down to the staff still held in her hands. “I’ll just beat you _worse_ now,” she said, smug and annoying.

Catra tried to ignore the pang of hurt. Adora was right. _That’s how it is,_ she told herself. _She will always be better and she will never want you like that._ These new limits chaffed; Catra was becoming accustomed to the feeling. Someday, this wouldn’t hurt. Someday, she wouldn’t even care.

Catra didn’t realize she had gone quiet for several minutes until Adora said, “Are you okay?”

“Obviously,” Catra said, folding her arms across her chest and leaning onto the post at the end of the bed. She stretched her legs out on Adora’s stomach so she could see just how unbothered Catra was. But Adora didn’t seem to care. She was still messing with the staff, letting Catra’s feet lay there on her lap.

“I have to tell you something,” Adora said, scratching her scalp where her ponytail was tied.

Catra groaned. “Shadow Weaver doesn’t care that your marks are slightly lower with these kids, okay? Stop freaking out all the time.”

Adora sighed. “She does care,” she started, but stopped at Catra’s glare. “That’s not what I was gunna say. I was gunna say that you got me this for nothing. I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Well, I chose Transport to start with, and—”

“Are you stupid? You’re way better at Hand-to-hand!”

“I know.” Adora pouted. “But I didn’t know my best friend was going to steal my staff back for me!”

Catra punched Adora on the shoulder. “Okay, whatever, but you’ll use it next week.”

“Um…” Adora folded her arms across her chest. “About that.”

“What?”

“I sort of…”

“Spit it out,” Catra said.

“I punched Snaggle Tooth in front of Shadow Weaver and got kicked out of Practicals,” Adora said all in one breath.

Catra’s mouth hung open.

“I know.” Adora sunk her face into her hands. “It’s bad.” She looked at Catra through her fingers. “I’m so dead.”

“You… punched… Snaggle Tooth?” Catra was screeching by the end of her sentence, having lost all sense of time and space in her astonishment.

“Catra!” Adora hissed. She sat up, throwing Catra’s legs off her lap, to clamp a hand to Catra’s mouth. “Are you trying to get us both thrown in solitary?” she demanded.

They stared at each other like that for a few silent moments, listening to the barracks around them. They startled at a sound, but it was just one of the cadets mumbling in their sleep. They looked at each other again and burst into laughter. Adora kept her hand over Catra’s mouth, trying to stifle it, but she couldn’t stop laughing either, and Catra clamped her hand over Adora’s mouth. They giggled like that for several minutes with muted, breathy laughter against each other’s palms, and Catra hardly even thought about the way Adora’s mouth felt.

“I can’t believe you punched him,” Catra said, once they quieted.

“He deserved it,” Adora said darkly.

Catra glared. “What did he do?” she demanded.

“Almost crashed the skiff, for one. He’s a terrible driver.”

Catra shook her head. “I’m having this feeling I’ve never had before.”

Adora tensed. “What?”

“It’s like… I respect you?” Catra said. “I don’t know, it’s weird, brand new fee—”

Adora elbowed her in the ribs, which set off another round of muffled fighting and laughing before they quieted enough to lie down on the bed side-by-side.

“How long can you stay?” Adora whispered.

“What?” Catra said, her heart beating loud. “You gunna be scared of the dark when I leave?”

Adora elbowed her. “No!”

“You’re thinking about the Headless Princess, aren’t you?” Catra said, snickering.

“I am not!” Adora said.

“I saw your face when Shadow Weaver told that story. You looked like you were gunna pee your pants.”

“You were scared too!” Adora jabbed Catra’s side.

“I don’t get scared.” Catra yanked at her ponytail. “I get _even_.”

“Whatever,” Adora said, letting her eyes slip closed. “Just stay a little longer.” Adora shifted so her shin was touching Catra’s leg.

“Fine,” Catra said. “If you’re gunna cry without me—”

“I don’t cry,” Adora protested.

“Then I’ll stay.” Catra made sure to keep her voice bratty.

Adora didn’t respond, just nuzzled her face into the pillow, closer to Catra.

They lay like that in the dark for several long minutes. Catra closed her eyes. She knew she couldn’t fall asleep here, but it was easy to be lulled by Adora’s warmth, her breaths beside her. But then Catra heard Adora’s breath hitch. Catra opened her eyes. Adora’s face was all scrunched up, tear tracks gleaning off her cheeks. Catra froze. Adora didn’t let her see her cry often. They had learned to turn away, pretend like it wasn’t real. But here Adora was, crying, silent, and not trying to hide it.

Catra’s first feeling was panic. Adora was the strong one, Adora was the one who could navigate the Horde, who knew how to keep them both safe. If Adora showed weakness, they were doomed. Both of them. The thought made Catra angry, too. She had to stop this, make it something easier than it was. In the Horde, anything was better than weakness.

Catra kicked Adora’s leg, gently, leaned in to whisper in her ear the way they knew well, so quiet they knew no one else could hear: “I didn’t really think you would—” _cry, Adora,_ she meant to finish, taunting, so Adora would wipe her face, pull herself together say, “Of course I’m not crying,” and they’d pretend this hadn’t happened, but Catra couldn’t say it. When she started talking Adora opened her eyes and met Catra’s own and looked at her with her welling, vulnerable eyes, so full of _something_.

Catra didn’t know what that was, that thing she both hoped and feared was need, so she focused on the tears in her eyes instead. “Cry, Adora,” she still finished the sentence, but it came out gentle. Catra retracted her claws and wiped Adora’s face with the pads of her thumbs before she could tell herself to stop.

Catra pulled Adora in so her face was mashed up against her shoulder. She held the back of her head and whispered, “You have to be quiet.”

Adora nodded into Catra’s shoulder and gripped the back of her shirt, and when Catra finally pulled away to sneak back into their barracks, her eyes were red, but dry. “Thanks,” Adora said.

Catra shrugged. “If I had to hear you whine about the new staffs one more time I was gunna lose it.”

Adora snorted. She smiled a real smile, bright and hopeful and full of teeth. “I didn’t mean just that.” She pressed Catra’s hand between her own. “I really did miss you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Catra said. “Normally you never leave me alone.” She really tried to make it a complaint.

Catra looked down at Adora’s hands holding her own. Shadow Weaver was wrong. Catra had never had a choice. She could never go to the Western Outpost. She could never go anywhere else.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my sister for betaing this!
> 
> This started because I was upset that Catra agreed in Corridors that she wanted to do "one good thing." That's not the only good thing you ever did, Catra! *cries* 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! If you did, your kudos/ comment will bring me much needed joy. 
> 
> And if you're interested in my post-canon take on the squad as they go on a space adventure, you can check out my multi-chapter fic [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24990256/chapters/60506281). 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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